Jun 28 2020 Acts 17:12-34

The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. 

Last week, I returned to working in the office, physically distanced, with a face mask whenever I was in shared space. It was both familiar and foreign. I think that’s how our world’s return will be. We’ll return to things familiar, we’ll be grateful for the comfort of those familiar things, and then we’ll be struck by how foreign this new masked, distanced world is. And who knows when we’ll return to that new normal?  Strange times indeed. 

Churches are working to return to that new normal, with different strategies. In my work world, there are churches that are returning to in-person worship, physically distanced, and masked. There are churches that are conducting services in the parking lot, using transmitter radios so people can tune in on their car radios, unmasked, and see each other. One church has decided not to return to in-person worship until a vaccine is released, and all members can return to worship safely. Another has said they hope to open in December. 

On one hand, every priest in this area knows that God is not in the building. God does not live in a church or cathedral made by human hands. Every person of faith knows that too. I know God isn’t contained in a building. Jesus isn’t any more present in that crucifix, than in my living room. The Holy Spirit is no less alive in me, just because I can’t ‘go to church’. 

And yet, people of faith are yearning to return. Some of that may be habit; it’s what we do on our sabbath. Some may be the richness of the worship service or the jubilation of the praise music, or the collective energy of the gathered body of Christ. 

We know God isn’t in the building, or Jesus isn’t only contained in the Eucharistic bread and wine. We know God is alive and moving in the world, even when our church buildings are empty. 

The desire to gather is more about community. We want and need each other. And although it’s a wonderful technological tool, video conferencing is not the same as being in person. I had the honor at serving at an ordination yesterday, in person, with 25 people. Although we were masked and distanced, it was so nice to join others in worship, and to actually receive communion. 

So what do we do with the knowledge that God does not need shrines and encounters with Jesus are not restricted to those encounters that occur in collective worship, and yet we hunger to return?

I think what we do not do is return, disregarding the public health advice. We don’t gather in large masses, unmasked. Or if we do, we need to understand that while God may feel more imminent, so is the risk of transmission, illness and death. The risk is not just to those gathered, but to everyone they subsequently come into contact with. God, who doesn’t need a building, also made epidemiologists, who help us stay safe. 

I’m reminded of a great book, Canoeing the Mountains, about ministry leadership in uncertain times. Published in 2015, it long precedes this pandemic, but was talking about the changing world of ministry. Tod Bolsinger uses the story of Lewis and Clark as a great analogy. They started off with canoes, determined to get to the other side of the US. They were selected for the mission because of their great navigational ability of water, and thought they could canoe their way from St. Louis to the water way to the West. Little did anyone know they’d encounter the Rocky Mountains. At that point, they had a massively changed mission. The book chronicles the major lessons from their journey, and compares it to the world of ministry leadership, pulling salient lessons to carry forward.

The first lesson is that the world in front of you is nothing like the world behind. The canoes that Lewis and Clark thought would get them to the ocean would not help in the mountains. They could have decided to carry the canoes through the mountain (hence the title of the book), but instead they adapted, and changed the plan. That’s like ministry now. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what canoes we are trying to carry into the mountains. God is not in the church building, and neither are we in the same way we were. How is it we move forward with a new normal, that isn’t even defined. Perhaps we need to refocus on our mission. Church, as we know it, will likely be different moving forward. Our mission hasn’t changed. We are called to Love God, and Love each other. Instead of spending our time talking about how to canoe the mountains, or use the tools we had for the job ahead, we should look ahead and figure out what we need for that new world. It probably isn’t video conferencing, or a canoe. 

Jun 23 2020 Romans 4:1-12

Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift but as something due.

I’ve long heard about justification by faith, and not by works. As a constant do-er, I’ve always wondered about this, or at least struggled to understand how good intentioned, done-for-Christ actions aren’t what matter. I’ve understood that faith is better, and I’ve had to simply take that as, well, faith. It didn’t necessarily make sense to my constant-motion self. Of course, I’ve not been able to make sense of much of my faith, and have been willing to accept things throughout my life that don’t make sense, or at least things that I couldn’t wrap my head around. 

This morning’s reading from Romans explains much to me. Basically, Paul is explaining that when someone does works, they are paid because it’s due. That’s the problem with works. When we ‘do’ something to earn God’s grace, when it comes, it’s not a gift, but something we’re owed. That sounds far too transactional for the God of Grace and Love without cause or limits. 

Works aren’t inherently wrong. But when we do them, they should be done because it’s the right thing to do, not because anyone will thank us, or because another hash mark will be added to God’s great tally sheet. 

I’m reminded of my sick loved one. Sometimes they’re delightful to be around. Sometimes, not. Sometimes they’re demanding, and say mean things. My actions and support and love should not be conditional on their behavior, especially when it’s driven by illness. I should do the right thing, regardless. It’s not easy because we, unlike God do keep a tally sheet. If you’re nice to me, I can reciprocate. When you’re mean, there should be consequences. Sure, there can be natural consequences, like if you’re late, you miss the bus. But contrived or punitive consequences are must mean, and based on my sense of works. As Paul explains, to one who works, wages are due. You can get your wages, if you do the work or behave as I suggest. But when it comes to kindness, love, grace, and mercy, none of that should be based on works, or behavior. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how nice it is that God’s grace, love and mercy aren’t dependent upon my works or behavior. Mine shouldn’t be either.